Taaleem Award 2018

MEMORIES
Winning Entries from the
Taaleem Award 2018
www.taaleem.ae

Taaleem
Award
Memories
Note to readers: please be aware that these winning
poems have not been edited.

Published in 2018 for the LitFest
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INTRODUCTION
Taaleem Award 2018
“Memories” is an essential theme in poets’ lives. Through it they can bring back and
keep alive unforgettable experiences. Their poetic creativity explodes to produce the
finest and most beautiful poems.
This theme fits perfectly with the tenth edition of the Emirates Airline Festival of
Literature in 2018 to tell the story of a decade of excellence and creativity.
After we announced the theme of the Taaleem Award this year, we were delighted to
receive entries from students from all of the seven emirates. Their wonderful poems
express the past that still lives in their memories, the past that carries both happiness
and sadness but always gives us hope of a brighter future.
We thank Taaleem for their generous support for this unique award. As a specialized
foundation supporting education in the UAE, Taaleem understands the importance of
concentrating on youth to allow them to develop their talents in different sectors.
Rosamund Marshall, the CEO of Taaleem, says:
“The importance of this Poetry Award goes beyond one student, school, organisation or
emirate. It is an open invitation to all the young creative minds to come forward and be
heard. Poetry is a natural component of literature and culture in the UAE and is woven
into its rich heritage.”
We are enormously grateful to the two judges, Frank Dullaghan and Joan Scott-Minter,
for the generous time and meticulous care they put in to choosing the winning poets.
We would also like to thank the teachers who believe in their students’ poetic talents
and the parents who encourage their children to have the honour to win this award.
Now, I would like to invite you all to enjoy reading the poems of the winners of the
Taaleem Award 2018!
Eman Al Hammadi
Competitions Manager & Arabic Education Relationship Officer.

CONTENTS
11 and under
Memories ............................................. 8
Aditi Gandhi
Bricks and Birds ....................................... 10
Anna Sofie Vinter
Disappearing Memories ................................. 12
Inaz Violet Humphrey
12-14
Abstract Memories of the Past ............................ 16
Tanvi Tiana Dhingra
Regret .............................................. 18
Araisa Sayyed
In your memory ....................................... 20
Cianna Sarah Vipin
15-17
Gigabytes ............................................ 24
Farida Amr
Why Brain, Why?....................................... 26
Sylvia Elise Waft
Ichor ................................................ 28
Eyad Abdulazim
18-25
We Shall be Remembered ............................... 32
Ayesha Arif
uninvited guest........................................ 34
Neeraja Rajkumar
Roots ............................................... 36
Letitia Jiju

Judge’s Overview for 11 & under
I have always loved reading the poems of this age group. There are often gems and
surprises that come from younger writers. This year was no exception. I am, as always,
aware that there may be some very young children competing in this group and that
the age range is large. However, as I read these poems blind, i.e. I do not have names,
age, or school information, I am unable to tell what sort of an impact this has. In any
event, I am required to judge one poem against another irrespective of any age gap. So
if you’re six years old and your poem hasn’t been chosen, don’t worry. Your day may
well come. Just be pleased you took part. That’s a big deal. And keep writing. I want to
see more poems from you next year.
The judging of these poems was a slow process. Every poem was read at least once.
From the first reading, a short list of 35 poems was compiled for further review and
from this the final selection of winning and highly commended poems was made. Sadly,
I found that three of these poems were copied from the internet and were not the work
of the child. It is clear that teachers could be doing more to filter out copied/partially
copied poems and to explain to the children that this is not acceptable. It is not good for
the children and it’s not good for the competition. I try my best to identify and eliminate
such poems – but I can never be sure. And that’s a sad situation.
That said, I have some great poems and worthy winners to share with you.
Frank Dullaghan
December 2017

11 and under

Memories
Aditi Gandhi, The Winchester School, Jebel Ali, 10
Yes...I gazed in the eyes of a dead bird,
It jolted me to no ends,
The flow of life no more,
The glisten gone,
The blinking and the warmth,
The tweet and the tickle,
The clinging and the fluttering,
The solitude and the silence,
A lump in the mouth…
Yes…I saw my mother,
In the stillness of a stiff moment,
No longer a caress or a chuckle,
Static glare and a still stare,
Lifeless, dull and unbearable,
My heart pounding endlessly,
Swarms of uneasy wriggling,
Choking my innermost being,
The one responsible for my existence,
Was no more,
But alive…she always will be,
In the chambers of my memory lane.
8

This poem begins with an
encounter with a dead bird
and then moves onto the death
of a mother – “Yes…I saw my
mother/ in the stillness of a
stiff moment”. The language
in this poem is simple but its
use is profound, like that ‘stiff
moment’ in the lines quoted.
The emotional impact, as a
result, is, to quote from the
beginning of the poem, “it jolted
me to no ends”.
9

Bricks and Birds
Anna Sofie Vinter, American School Dubai, 9
I think a bad memory is like a brick
We need a lot of them to build a wall
Small bad memories build walls around you
One big bad memory can lead to one big brick
making a wall without taking the time to build it
If we let the bricks get in our way, we won’t be able to go any farther
and in the end we won’t be able to get out.
I think if a wall was built,
We need to spend time to deal with it
Small walls you can jump over
But the tall walls change your yearning to try
It takes time, because that is what a bad memory wants
for time to take you and keep you in the dark
I think a good memory is like a bird
We become colorful and can sing beautifully
Suddenly the walls are lower
because we fly high with our heads in the blurry sky
Our heads are up in the clouds and we feel like we never want to leave
and many people’s goals in life is to become a bird and, if there,
fly over the walls
10

This poem is an extended
metaphor where bad memories
are seen as bricks that can form
a wall that becomes impossible
to climb over. Really bad
memories can be just one big
gigantic brick that can hold you
back all by itself. I love the idea
of this poem and the insight it
provides. Good memories, on the
other hand, are like birds that
allow us to soar over the walls.
Wonderful!
11

Disappearing Memories
Inaz Violet Humphrey, Kings’ School Dubai, 11
“Her mind is different,” they told us,
A fluttering red bird too intricate for its own good,
A building on fire too grand to take down,
A devastating story too heartbreaking to forget.
Her mind had let go of thousands of things,
Starting with dates of wars and deaths of royalty,
But grew worse as days went on,
As her mind had let go of names of family and days of importance.
The curiosity in her eye had disappeared,
Like foul night-birds at the break of dawn.
She had forgotten who I was,
What she called her ultimate supporter and dearest friend.
The sweet pine scent that she used to love,
No longer brought up memories in her mind of home and comfort,
As she had forgotten about that too.
12

Now I sit in a hospital room,
My dear older sister laying sound beside me,
My hand clasped around hers as if we were clueless kids once again,
But we aren’t clueless kids anymore as nothing can be the way it used to.
We are grownup now but I still feel like a kid,
Hoping for my favourite teddy to come out of ‘surgery’ good as new.
A gasp coughed out of her body,
As she shot up to a sitting position.
Heavy breaths enter and exits her body,
As her eyes meet mine,
“Inaz?” she asked.
This poem deals with the difficult
subject of losing memories. The
mind of a sister is described
as “a fluttering red bird too
intricate for its own good”. The
language is mature and the
narrative handled well. This is
another poem that stands out
within this age group both for its
subject matter and its execution.
13

Judge’s Overview for 12-14
The judging of these poems was a slow process. Every poem was read at least once.
From the first reading, a long list of over 130 poems was compiled for further review
and from this two subsequent shortlists were produced, eventually coming down to 37
poems from which to make the final selection. These were the most outstanding poems
from all submitted for this age group. The standard, as you might expect, was high.
However, there is one other thing I have learned to do at this stage. I needed to check
that the poems weren’t copied from books or off the internet. Poems submitted must
be the work of the child. Sadly, I found that more than half of the poems at this stage
of the judging were in fact copied. Some copied poems were submitted multiple times
by different children. Some of these poems were close together, suggesting they came
from the same school. It is clear that teachers could be doing more to filter out copied/
partially copied poems and to explain to the children that this is not acceptable. It is not
good for the children and it’s not good for the competition. I try my best to identify and
eliminate such poems – but I can never be sure I have done so. And that’s a regrettable
place to be.
Frank Dullaghan
December 2017

12 - 14

Abstract Memories of the Past
Tanvi Tiana Dhingra, GEMS International School Al Khail, 14
When I was 10;
I saw a person’s life flash before my eyes and I knew that those were my memories,
I was too late…
When I was 9;
I felt the heat of a burning house and I knew the smell of burning flesh would be
remembered,
I couldn’t do anything…
When I was 8;
I saw a woman kneel down and show me a ring and I knew I would say yes,
I was flying with the stars…
When I was 7;
I saw an angel come down and I knew I was special,
I was changed…
When I was 6;
I stood over a dead man’s body and I knew the blood on my hands wasn’t mine,
I cried…
When I was 5;
I looked in the mirror and I knew that wasn’t my face,
I was filled with a whirlwind of emotions…
16

When I was 4;
A woman stepped in front of me and took a bullet to the chest
and I knew she shouldn’t have,
I wasn’t her daughter…
When I was 3;
I saw rivers polluted and forests felled and I knew I had to do something,
I didn’t know what to do…
When I was 2;
I jumped into the sea and talked with the fish but I knew my tail wasn’t real,
I didn’t believe in the impossible…
When I was 1;
I saw ashes and fire and bones and I knew the world was ending,
I didn’t know the worst was yet to come.
This is a highly unusual poem
for the age group – enigmatic,
challenging. It is one of those
poems that seems to take you
to a different place, perhaps
memories of past lives, perhaps
just a different thought process.
But this uniqueness and
particularity is the real stuff of
poetry. The poem stood out for
this reason and suggests that
the poet will produce other
strong poems in the future.
17

Regret
Araisa Sayyed, The Apple International School, 14
Regret washed her
Like the slow waves on sandy beach.
Each wave was icy cold.
That sent shivers down her spine.
How she longed to go back
And take a different path,
There was no way back.
There was no way back.
The remorse would eat her day and night.
She wished to be pebbles,
Cold and lifeless,
To the torments of life.
Regret is eating her,
Like an infection.
Bit by bit with passing time.
It sweep her like waves ashore,
She shouldn’t have done it at all.
Can she ever make it right?
She just doesn’t know how.
How she longed to go back
And take a different path,
There was no way back.
There was no way back.
18

In a series of similes, the nature
of regret is conveyed. We are not
told what caused this regret.
We do not need to know.
The aptness of the images, the
considered line breaks, and the
apt use of repetition, show off
a skill level not often seen at
this age. This is a well-deserved
second place in a highly
talented field.
19

In your memory
Cianna Sarah Vipin, RAK Academy, 12
It’s hard to forget you when you gave me so much to remember,
The way you laughed, how your eyes glowed like ember
Down my cheeks roll all our memories
How we fixed each other like a puzzle and its final piece
I think of you, each second, every hour of each passing day
I got too attached, even though I knew you wouldn’t stay
You said you could take a storm but I was a hurricane
I knew you couldn’t take it, but I let you in anyway
My memory still loves you, it asks about you all the time
I knew you could make me laugh, I didn’t realize you could also make me cry
We were inseparable for what seemed like centuries
But now we’re just strangers with some powerful memories
20

This is a love poem. Love poems
in this age group tend to be
sentimental, too telling. But this
one lets the images carry the
emotional weight – “how we
find each other like a puzzle and
its final piece”. It feels authentic.
It feels just right.
21

Judge’s Overview for 15-17 & 18-25
Altogether there were over 350 entries in these age groups which, although that made
judging a long process, was very encouraging. It was discouraging, however, to find
so many poems which did not conform to the theme or were plagiarised, and many
promising poems had to be dismissed out of carelessness. If you are going to enter
a competition, then make it your best effort. My personal thanks go to those students
who took their time to eliminate errors of grammar and punctuation in order to craft
their best work.
“Memories” proved to be an excellent theme with many varied approaches and some
really memorable, original and personal responses. The shortlists were long and final
choices difficult to make. Response to poems is personal – like listening to music; the
winning poems were those that kept on resonating regardless of time of day, weather
or my mood!
Thank you Taaleem, parents and teachers for your continuing support, enthusiasm and
encouragement.
Joan Scott-Minter
December 2017

15 - 17

Gigabytes
Farida Amr, Emirates International School, Jumeirah, 15
One day, I promise, I’ll grab you by the hand,
I’ll drag you off this lonely land.
I’ll break through your walls, brave through your spikes,
To rescue you from that world of hashtags and likes.
Can you remember, my dear, how it was before?
Colours, lights, emotions galore!
But now that old slate has been wiped clean,
Our only light these days comes from our screen.
Folded notes forgotten, now we just text
I wonder what we’ll stop doing next?
A shoebox on our top shelf holds mixtapes, photos, pens,
Now we can only see the world through a Snapchat lense.
We’re living in bubbles, each to his own ,
Oblivious, as we get swept away by the cyclone.
So tell me, my darling, when did we become so trite,
To measure memories in gigabytes?
24

The first two rather prosaic lines
of Farida’s poem seem not to
fit with the title and do not give
a hint of what is to follow – a
look at modern communication
with a view of a future devoid
of romanticism – a “world
of hashtags and likes”. The
controlled rhyme and rhythm
perfectly reflect the speed at
which technology develops
and begins to dominate and
eliminate more old-fashioned
ways of recording and
preserving memories: “colour,
lights, emotions galore.” She sees no romance in “Snapchat and texts”
unlike “photos” and “folded notes”.
“Gigabytes” is refreshing in its modernity and relevance and perhaps
alerts us or echoes what many people see and fear are the dangers of
technology. Well done Farida.
25

Why Brain, Why?
Sylvia Elise Waft, Dubai College, 16
Neurons, synapses, electrical impulses,
The brain drives; we ride,
No map to guide us.
A tangled task,
Which memories stay and which go?
Could it be random?
Memories assigned a number
From one to ten;
Even numbers stay!
So I remember the colour of my bedroom when I was six,
Not my grandmother’s face.
Perhaps self-improvement.
The brain wants us to learn,
And not repeat mistakes.
Bad memories warn us.
So I remember the failed exam,
Not the question I got right.
Maybe it’s cruelty.
No forgiveness for you, ha, ha, ha!
26

Spotlights on the bad,
Good shoved offstage.
So I remember the harsh words between us,
Not the laughter we shared.
Which is true? Any? All? None?
Complex and unexplained,
The brain is a master machine.
A simple memory is joy in a moment,
Tears in eyes,
Or lost forever.
Sylvia’s poem echoes the idea of
other entries about how memory
works but at a more specific,
scientific and humorous level.
The title is apposite: why does
the brain choose which things
we remember? She plays with
the good/bad results of how
‘the brain drives” and “we ride”
as though we have no control
over the choice. She questions
whether it is random, or so
we can learn, or just cruelty.
Memory is given a real character
and voice: “no forgiveness for you ha, ha, ha!” Each stanza supports its first
line and ends with the choice to be made between good and bad memory.
I particularly like the elegant and rather poignant ending “A simple
memory is joy in a moment”– a satisfactory conclusion to an interesting
and well-developed poem.
27

Ichor
Eyad Abdulazim, Pristine Private School, 15
A house that overflows with memories,
From its windows seep clear tears;
Some droplets as fresh as roses,
Others as salty as fear.
A garden that blooms through rains,
And winds, and shakes, and blows;
May just grow the weakest shrubs,
Or have lilacs purple in rows.
Fingers, chipped and nipped,
Cut, scratched, and scarred,
From the hardest of work,
Or the softest guitars.
A heart, broken to a million pieces,
Bitten by a thousand snakes,
May become numb and weary,
Accustomed to the aches,
Or just beat that much stronger,
Ready to make the chase.
The tears from the windows,
The tunes of the guitar,
The millions of pieces,
The countless scars,
They run through our veins like ichor,
Making us who we are.
28

Similar to Sylvia’s poem, Eyad
also uses negative and positive
outcomes to circumstances
outside our control. Ichor, the
ethereal blood of Greek Gods,
suggests that it is chance which
determines the outcome and
which is ultimately responsible
for “making us who we are.”
Generally this is a wellconstructed
poem with good use
of rhyme and rhythm.
29

18 - 25

We Shall be Remembered
Ayesha Arif, International Training Institute, 18
The Future has come knocking at my door today.
It comes bearing calendars and,
Tells me I have had six thousand five hundred and seventy days of my life,
Asks me why I refused to live them.
I tell him I am afraid that I will have six thousand five hundred and seventy days more,
And I will not remember any of them either,
That I will fade away into the night, forgotten.
And so it wraps me unceremoniously in its arms and says:
“You were born when autumn walked barefoot on the cooling earth,
Trailing the burnt gold of farewell in her wake.
You were born under the cover of the night,
And your battle cry roused it from its slumber,
Forcing the constellations to burn themselves brighter to lull it back to sleep.
And your name was perfectly engraved onto the stars,
That not even a hundred black holes can wipe away.
Child,
You are an explosion of colors waiting to happen.
Of course,
It is just an ephemeral blink of eternity.
32

And of course,
You too will fade away into icy darkness one day.
But like the leaves,
You will hold on with tenacious ferocity till you are able.
Perhaps,
This is how you will inspire.
This is your legacy.”
“We Shall Be Remembered” is an
apposite title because this is one
of the most memorable poems
this year. The reader is captured
right from the beginning. At first,
the tone is negative: the speaker
is afraid of not remembering
and will “fade into the night,
forgotten”.
The single line “And so it wraps
me unceremoniously in its arms”
is arresting; then the imagery
and musicality of the poem
become enchanting: “You were
born when autumn walked barefoot on the cooling earth” and “Child,
you are an explosion of colours”. The final stanza is effective because it is
simple and elegant and positive.
Ayesha has shown great control and poetic ability; there are no errors,
nothing unexplained or unnecessary. This is a poem truly deserving of first
place. Thank you Ayesha.
33

uninvited guest
Neeraja Rajkumar, National Film and Television School, 23
there is an uninvited guest outside my door
he is knocking, light and quick and i am not his friend
my hand does not turn the handle; the door remains closed
but despite it, in he comes.
His name? Time.
he is a magician, bewitching me with his sleight of hand
the smallest of blinks and here i am, age 15.
another blink: 27. 34. 52.
not spiders or heights, nor demons or ghosts - i fear him.
for he is an invisible thief; swift on his feet and omnipresent
no one can catch him - no one can find him - for he is no one.
he looms at large, hovering behind every corner on every street.
it seems like yesterday my mother told me
i was to have a brother! chubby ankles and soft cheeks
eyes as dark and luminous as marbles, he holds on to my finger
as if his life depended on it; it is the most beautiful thing in the world.
time comes by, ever the courteous stranger,
waves his deft fingers: stretches out my little brother like a reed
so much so he is no longer little at all - gone are his stout legs,
his pout of a belly, his fondness of all things stuffed and soft.
all that remains are his linen eyes; that, time cannot take.
sometimes i hid in places where he couldn’t find me:
the rooftop of my childhood home, before the sun awoke
and all the world was still (every breath felt like the first).
34

at 2 pm lunch break; the giggles and furtive secrets shared between two
in the hush of the stairwells at school.
the cosy spot by the window in my first apartment
chai cup warming my cold hands as the rain poured heavily outside.
the more time took, the more i learnt as he let loose leaves of truth:
let every unbridled moment burn like the stars against the black of the night
each twinkling bright with their own memory -
long gone, but never truly lost.
“uninvited guest” is a title which
tempts you to read on – who
is the uninvited guest, what
part does he play – and you are
rewarded with good storytelling,
excellent imagery and a
satisfying positive ending. Time
is personified as a magician,
invisible thief, a courteous
stranger who bewitches “with
his sleight of hand” so that
the years pass too quickly and
changes happen before we are
ready for them. I love Neeraja’s
description of her new baby brother and the clever image of Time quickly
stretching him out. It is sentimental without pathos and I smile as I imagine
brother and sister playing together and staying friends as grown ups.
The final stanza reveals the lesson to “let every unbridled moment burn like
the stars…” “long gone, but never truly lost” – like your poem, Neeraja!
Well done.
35

Roots
Letitia Jiju, Manipal University, 22
Long before adolescence had bit into my flesh and gradually
Over the years sank its teeth into my soul, sly predator
I had a fondness for mangoes from Kottayam.
The kind that swayed in the dull moist wind -
We had a tree whose roots seemed ethereal.
My grandfather seemed to know exactly when the mangoes
Were to break away from their temporary attachments.
He never could make any such premonitions about his own children.
He often cites this as one of his failures and even if he doesn’t articulate it -
I know this.
He would quickly climb a ladder, pluck each wobbly young mango
One by one and hand them to me. My grandmother would
Peel their skin, slice them into cubes and feed me.
She’s partially deaf now. The other part,
She pretends most of it. Her selective hearing is her disposition,
Not from aging or peeling away mango skins or her children.
She wears it like a cloak at nights, walks the hallways, a captive
In her own home, steals short-lived glances of her grandchildren asleep.
The crickets can hear her.
They always do.
Silence has settled into this house the way a dying moth rests its cold wings.
The mango tree was cut years after the moth had died.
36

I cannot look at my grandfather, his hunched back, protruding belly
As if he stomachs his loss. My grandmother’s mouth
Breaks into the saddest smile and I pray that I’d never have to see it again.
Her detergent hands cup my face and I smell the mangoes.
And I hear the crickets.
And I see the dying moth.
And I wonder if my lineage is of inherited ghosts.
Letitia’s personal reminiscence
of her grandparents and the
mangoes is an understated
poem which sounds quite
colloquial, yet is cleverly
constructed and full of images;
adolescence is a “sly predator”;
“silence has settled into
this house the way a dying
moth rests its cold wings”;
grandmother’s “detergent
hands”.
I particularly like the descriptions
of grandfather’s “hunched back,
protruding belly as if he stomachs his loss” and grandmother’s partial
deafness: “The other part, she pretends most of it. Her selective hearing is
her disposition. …She wears it like a cloak at nights.”
This is good storytelling in a poem which gets better with every reading.
Well done Letitia.
37

Frank Dullaghan lives in Dubai. He holds an MA with Distinction in Writing from the
University of South Wales. Whilst in the UK he co-founded the Essex Poetry Festival
and edited Seam Poetry Magazine. He has published three poetry collections (On
the Back of the Wind, 2008, Enough Light to See the Dark, 2012, and The Same
Roads Back, 2014) from Cinnamon Press in the UK, and two haiku collections.
Frank has run workshops in poetry and short story writing in schools, university and
for various literary and writing groups. His screenplay Melody featured in the best
short films Dubai 48 hour Film competition 2012 and won the audience award in the
Mumbai Women’s International Film Festival 2013. He has also written short stage plays which have been
performed in Dubai. In 2014, he provided the final English poetic translations (from literal translations) for His
Highness Sheikh Mohammed’s book, Flashes of Verse.
Frank’s fourth collection, Lifting the Latch, is due out from Cinnamon Press in May 2018.
Joan Scott-Minter came to Dubai in 1989 as a full-time teacher and, although
she retired in 2000, she has continuously been involved in children’s education
and children’s literature as a teacher, writer, mentor and editor. Her first musical
Nagwaja, published by Maverick Musicals in Australia, has been performed in many
countries including Dubai. Joan has been involved with the Emirates Airline Festival
of Literature since its inception and remains enthusiastically committed.

زينب إبراهيم البلوشي،عضوة في رابطة أديبات اإلمارات ومنتدى
شاعرات اإلمارات.‏ حاصلة على المركز السادس في برنامج شاعر
المليون – الموسم السابع،‏ شاركت في العديد من األمسيات داخل
وخارج الدولة وحاصلة على العديد من الجوائز في مجال الشعر
الشعبي،‏ ومحكمة للعديد من المسابقات منها:‏ شاعر المليون
لألطفال والمسابقة الدولية ‏)النخلة في غيوم العالم(‏
عبداهلل الهدية الشحي،‏ شاعر وباحث إماراتي من مواليد رأس الخيمة،‏
وهو من شعراء القصيدة العربية الفصحى والنبطية،‏ ألّف العديد من
األناشيد الملحمية،‏ وما يعرف بفن األوبريت،‏ شارك في العديد من
األمسيات داخل وخارج الدولة،‏ ومثّل اإلمارات في األسابيع الثقافية
في عدة دول،‏ كما أسهم في الحركة األدبية والمشهد الشعري
من خالل المحاضرات واألمسيات الكثيرة في المراكز والمؤسسات
والنوادي واتحاد كُ‏ تّاب وأدباء اإلمارات،‏ يعمل الهدية على تكريس حب
الشعر الفصيح والنبطي وعلم العروض والقوافي،‏ له عدة إصدارات:‏
‏»ابتسام العمر«‏ و»إلى متى«‏ و»أين أنت«،‏ ينشر قصائده في مختلف
الصحف والمجالت داخل وخارج اإلمارات،‏ وقد حصل الشاعر عبداهلل
الهدية الشحي على العديد من الجوائز في مجال الشعر،‏ منها جائزة
العويس لإلبداع عن ديوانه ‏»الباحث عن إرم«‏ كأفضل ديوان شعر .